


Bedgames

by Emphysematous



Series: Extra Time [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie is a fucking saint, Cuddles and fluff, Early Relationship, Intercrural Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Introduction to Kink, M/M, Mentions of consensual non-consent, Passing mentions of actual non-consent, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pillow Talk, Relationship Sabotage, Tommy Shelby is a fucking disaster, Tommy is confused, Tommy is entirely made of cheekbones and angst, handjobs, mentions of consensual violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29642415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emphysematous/pseuds/Emphysematous
Summary: Tommy's in bed with Alfie, but he can't stop thinking about someone else.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Extra Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030875
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Bedgames

* * *

He was in Alfie’s bed. Again. Naked. Again. It seemed that no matter how many times he tod himself that this was dangerous. Stupid. Suicide, even. No matter how often he resolved that that had been  _ the last time _ \- sooner or later he found himself back in Alfie’s bed. Opium had nothing on this. It wasn’t even a craving. He knew how to fight cravings. Granted, he wasn’t very good at it, but he could do it. He’d gone cold turkey off the whiskey and the laudanum before, just to prove to himself that he could. But Alfie was somehow cosmically irresistible. Every road in his life seemed to lead straight to Alfie. The universe conspired against him to bring them together. And once he was face to face with Alfie. Well. 

It was a curse. 

And now here he was again. Melting away into Alfie’s frenetic touches and kisses. Already mostly hard; legs spread for Alfie’s knee to nudge up between his thighs. Shoulderblades pressed into the mattress. Alfie’s breath hot and damp against his ear when he whispered that fucking evil question. “What is it you want?”

Tommy squirmed, his cheeks flushing.“You know what I want,” he evaded smoothly. He rolled his hips, pressing his cock against Alfie’s thigh to illustrate his need. Strange how he had no problem in acting like a slut, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words that went along with those actions.

At first he thought he’d get away with it, when his reply earned him a smile - but then Alfie was tutting in disappointment. He wagged a disapproving finger at Tommy’s face. “No I don’t, petal.” It was the one thing Alfie never let him get away with. The one thing Tommy hated most. Actually saying out loud the filthy things that he wanted to do. But the more evasive and vague Tommy got about it, the more insistent Alfie would be. Several times, Tommy’s point blank refusal to express himself had brought the sex to a stuttering halt, Alfie stubbornly refusing to continue until that barrier had been broken, and Tommy helplessly tongue-tied by his own refusal to admit that he was… one of  _ them _ . One of  _ those _ men.

Tommy had spent a very long time painstaking bricking  _ that man _ into a tunnel and leaving him to rot in France. 

As usual, Alfie wasn’t going to let his question go unanswered. He shifted, wriggling stiffly down the bed. Pressing kisses down Tommy’s neck and chest as he went. “I don’t know, Tom,” he said between bites at a nipple. “I can make an educated guess - and that guess might well be very accurate because, as you know, I am an educated man in these matters.” Alfie reached between Tommy’s legs, somehow managing to avoid contact with anything of interest. Tommy squirmed again. Rubbed his balls against Alfie’s forearm. Alfie glanced up at Tommy’s face, smirking. “But I don’t actually  _ know _ what you want, Tommy.” He slowly pulled his arm back up, but rotated his wrist so that it was the back of his hand that brushed teasingly up the length of Tommy’s cock.  _ Bastard. _

Tommy grit his teeth. Fought the urge to rut against any bit of Alfie’s body he could reach. “It’s pretty fucking obvious though, isn’t it?” he growled. Why was he like this? Why did Alfie turn him into such a needy whore?

_ Why did he like it so fucking much? _

“That might be, Tommy, love,” Alfie agreed easily. “But that doesn’t stop me enjoying hearing you say it.” And there it was again. Despite being one of the most contrary, obstinate and belligerent people Tommy had ever met, it was nearly impossible to argue with Alfie when he wasn’t in the mood for an argument. You could throw all your spite and bile at him and absolutely none of it would ruffle him in the slightest. It was  _ infuriating _ . And the cunt knew it. He knew when Tommy was angry and he knew that refusing to engage with his anger only made him even fucking angrier. Until Tommy felt like a toddler having a tantrum. Petty. Impotant.  _ Frustrated. _ So  _ so _ fucking frustrated. The kind of frustration that boiled over into desperation; which melted into complete fucking shamelessness. One moment he’d be gearing up to fucking garotte the smug tosser, the next he’d be choking himself on his cock or holding his arse open to get fucked, with no real idea how the tables had turned. 

Alfie was a fucking master at teasing him into that state. Breaking down all his morals and social mores and anxieties and stripping him back to pure  _ want _ .

“Hearing you say it is the best fucking bit, ain’t it, love?” His hand slid down again between Tommy’s legs and this time he worked the side of his index finger into the cleft of Tommy’s arse, the knuckle of his thumb pushing up behind his balls. Tommy snatched a breath.  _ Yes yes yes. _ Tilted his hips to give Alfie more access.  _ Come on, put something in me. Please, Alfie. Please. _ Alfie slowly drew the tip of one finger over his arsehole - and then pulled his hand away.  _ Cunt. _ Tommy clenched his buttocks hard, trying to keep Alfie’s hand in place, but it was useless. Alfie chuckled, responding to Tommy’s questioning whine with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. 

Tommy pouted at him. He wasn’t above using his looks to get what he wanted. He knew Alfie had a weakness for his puppy eyes. “You’re such a cunt sometimes.” He tugged at Alfie’s hair, pulling him back up within kissing range. Kissing Alfie was always a pleasure. If he couldn’t get fucked, he was going to enjoy every moment of Alfie’s soft full lips that he could get. 

Alfie nodded. “Yes I am, sweetheart. Yes I am.”

And how could you rage against someone who just  _ agreed _ with you like that?

Tommy let go of trying to pick a fight. Let go of even trying to get Alfie to fuck him, and just let himself sink into enjoying the kisses and touches he was being offered. He still struggled with it. Letting himself be examined and explored and adored the way Alfie liked to treat him. Half of him felt that it was juvenile and pointless and that this kind of softcore petting was for adolescents and coaxing yourself into the knickers of a woman pretending she wasn’t that kind of girl. But once you both knew she absolutely was that kind of girl, what was the point in wasting time getting to the fucking? But even after he’d long proven that he was a sure thing, Alfie still liked to stroke and tease him until he was a sweaty, panting mess. Until he was leaking into Alfie’s hand and whining frustration into the crook of his shoulder. Until the silent begging in his head finally spilled over into words. “Alfie,  _ please _ ...” His voice was hoarse.

“Hmmn?” Alfie asked, without letting up on the painfully slow brush of his fingers against the underside of his cock. Just a flutter. Just a hint of the pleasure that Tommy could be getting right now if Alfie wasn’t such a complete, consummate, utter  _ bastard  _ about teasing him.

Tommy coughed and dragged a breath. “Please,” he said again, almost mewling it. He wasn’t even sure what he was begging for. Just more. More of this. He wanted to drown in it. 

“Please what, lovely?” All innocence and concern. Like he wasn’t being an actual sadistic torturer right now. But that was it, wasn’t it? Alfie was an actual sadistic torturer. He’d admitted it. How he liked to make people beg. How their suffering turned him on. Tommy had even seen him at it. Violence and sex mingling in a way that he’d only ever seen in the worst type of predatory rapist. But his victim had kissed him afterwards - and not out of fear. He’d  _ thanked _ him. Laughed and joked with him. Tommy had heard them discussing what they were going to do the next time they met. Exactly how he wanted Alfie to hurt him. While the cane marks still stood proud and blood bright against the paleness of his backside. 

When Tommy closed his eyes at night, he often saw the expression on Alfie’s face as he’d beaten that mousey, plain little clerk. The focus and concentration. The simmering violence. The pure, unbridled lust. In that moment, just when the clerk’s yelps turned into uncontrolled sobs, Alfie had  _ wanted  _ him. Had needed to fuck him. It had been written in every sinew of his body, every tightly-controlled movement, every gleam in his dark eyes.

Tommy wanted to be looked at like that. He wanted Alfie to  _ want him _ like that. 

He gripped Alfie’s arm, staring up at him through his long lashes, lips wet and parted and flushed from kissing. It was a calculated expression. He knew what he looked like. Mentally, he shut a door on all his clamouring doubts and threw himself into the unknown. “You can hit me,” he offered. 

_ There. He’d said it.  _

Alfie blinked. “Can I?” It wasn’t a playful question. It was raw confusion. His teasing fingers stilled. Everything stilled. Tommy’s heart plummeted through his guts. He’d been certain that this was what Alfie would like. That this suggestion would break through Alfie’s infinite implacability and push him into the kind of desperate desire that he lit in Tommy’s heart. That he’d seen in him when Alfie had been with the fucking clerk. 

With a tongue as dry as paper Tommy tried to lick his lips. “Don’t you want to?” He studied Alfie’s face, watching for… something. Some sign of want or interest or even disgust - just  _ something _ . Alfie was totally blank. Tommy wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. 

“What reason would I have to hit you, Tommy?” Alfie asked slowly. His hand pulled up to rest softly on Tommy’s hip, squeezing a little at the softer flesh at the very top of his thigh. A gentle, comforting, loving touch. A backwards step from where Tommy wanted him to go. 

“Because you like it.” Tommy stated the accusation as a flat fact. He knew it was true. He’d seen it. The light of joy in Alfie’s eyes when a smack round the head hit an adversary  _ just right _ , and they dropped to the floor in a tidy pile. That satisfaction. That bloodlust. He’d felt it himself, though never in the context of sex. He could understand the appeal though. The adrenaline. The power. That was what he wanted to give to Alfie. 

“Do I?” This time Tommy could hear the subtle fishing behind the question. Alfie asking for more detail. More talking. More filth. Fuck, but that man loved dirty talk. He gave Tommy’s hip another gentle squeeze, fingertips just pulling at the meat of his buttock. Spreading him open, just a bit. Tommy’s cock twitched. 

He hooked his leg over Alfie’s thigh and whispered into his ear. If Alfie wanted to be seduced into giving Tommy what he wanted, Tommy wasn’t above giving it everything he’d got. “You like to hurt people.” His voice was pitched low and sultry.

If he’d expected a reaction he was left wanting. Alfie simply shrugged. “I like to hurt people who deserve it, that’s true,” he replied conversationally, as if they were discussing preferred genres of books or films. He was being deliberately obtuse and they both knew it. Tommy wanted to punch him.

“You hurt the clerk.” The words spilled spitefully from him before he had time to call them back. He hadn’t meant to bring up the clerk. Had intended to bury all knowledge of him deep in the mud of his mind and never think about him again. But he just couldn’t stop torturing himself with the memories of what he’d seen. They replayed over and over and over when he was trying to sleep. In his dreams. During meetings. During sex. 

They’d talked about it. After Tommy had seen them together, Alfie had known that something was up and had winkled it out of him eventually, despite Tommy’s best efforts at evasion and distraction. And they’d talked about it. How it was just the unloading of an urge. Just one small facet of who Alfie was. Just a convenient arrangement between degenerate and deviant. Just the equivalent of Tommy emptying his balls into his wife or a whore when he needed it.  _ Just. Just. Just. _ And Tommy had nodded and said it was fine. 

But he couldn’t stop obsessing over that fucking clerk. He stuck his claws in further. “What did he do to deserve it?” 

The slightest hint of a frown. “He asked.” Alfie said simply. As if that was an answer. As if that explained it all. How could the whole raging whirlwind of envy and confusion and distaste and desire that had been plaguing Tommy for the last few months boil down to just ‘ _ he asked _ ’? Alfie drew back a little so they could talk face to face, making cool air raise goosebumps on Tommy’s chest. “He asked very nicely, in fact.” He was so fucking  _ calm _ . How could he be so calm about this? “And offered incentives,” Alfie added as an afterthought.

Tommy’s lip curled in a pale hint of the possessive snarl that rose up in the back of his throat. “Like his mouth?” he spat. He knew he sounded jealous and petulant. Knowing it didn’t help his mood.

An acknowledging tilt of the head. “Amongst other things, yes. Quite the imagination, that lad.” Alfie was a cosy cottage of stoicism under the futile battering of Tommy’s raining spite. It all just rolled off him. He was impossible. 

Tommy’s eyes squeezed closed and he dropped his chin to his chest, shrinking in on himself. “You hurt him, and then you fucked him, yeah?” He wanted to hear Alfie say it. 

Alfie brushed Tommy’s hair back and gripped his jaw, turning his face back up. “Tommy, what is this about?” There was just the hint of impatience under his carefully constructed calm. “One minute we’re having a nice evening together and the next you’re going on about somebody else that I fuck sometimes. So just what is your fucking point here, eh?”

Tommy had no idea what his point was. No idea where he thought this stupid line of self-flagellating arguing would get him. If he’d had any kind of plan, it had evaporated now. Panic rose. He always did this. He found someone he really liked and then started to be a cut to them.  _ Why did he always fuck it up? _ He was clutching onto Alfie’s forearm, clinging to him. A vision of Alfie closing the door on him, sending him away, flashed through his mind. He felt sick. “If I let you hurt me, will you fuck me?” The question spilled from him without any thought. 

There was a long pause. Tommy couldn’t breathe. He closed his eyes. He could feel Alfie moving and knew that he was chewing at the corner of his beard while he thought. “Tommy, why the fuck are you negotiating payment for sex when all you have to do is ask for it?” Alfie asked quietly. “I mean, I know I’m being a bit of a bastard by making you spell out exactly what you want but-- ”

“You know how you said that sometimes sex is playing games?” Tommy cut in breathlessly. Blurting out the first thing that came to mind to try to explain what he was feeling. “Pretending to be someone you’re not or to be in a situation that isn’t real?” He ran his hand down Alfie’s arm and gripped his fingers, bringing their hands up so that he could press a kiss to the back of Alfie’s little finger. Like a kiss would soothe the damage he’d just wrought.

“Mmmn?” Alfie was noncommittal. Guarded. 

“What if I wanted to do that? With you.” Tommy spoke to their hands, hiding his face behind them. His heartbeat pounded in his ears while he waited for Alfie to reply. 

Alfie sucked at his lip thoughtfully. “Well now, that is a very interesting thought, isn’t it? It would depend… What are you thinking of playing?” He was listening. He was considering it. Relief flooded through Tommy’s veins. But he couldn’t make himself answer. He had no words. The thoughts got tangled and choked in his throat. 

He glanced up at Alfie and almost withered into a husk under the intensity of the way Alfie was watching him. It was too much. He couldn’t think. Abruptly, he let go of Alfie’s hand and turned over, nestling his back against Alfie’s chest. Alfie automatically wrapped his arm around Tommy’s waist and pulled him in close against his body. Yes. This was right. This was close and safe and intimate, but not raw and confrontational. Tommy made himself breathe slowly, forced his body to relax. Tried to marshal his thoughts into some kind of coherent order. 

When he did speak, it was to the empty air in front of him. It was so much easier this way. Again, his tongue surprised him by coming out with a question he hadn’t even realised was on his mind. “But it’s just a game, isn’t it?”

Yes. That was the crux of it. That was the bit that scared him. 

He was just about coming to terms with realising that he’d never grown out of the urge for what his old boxing trainer had called ‘adolescent horseplay’ with his peers. He’d never stopped wanting to touch other men, to be touched in return. To kiss them, rut against them, lick and suck them. Alfie had renewed the feelings that he’d put down to hormones and curiosity and pushed to the back of his mind for the last twenty years. And shown him that he wasn’t alone. There were others like him. Not the queers in dresses and makeup trolling around the secret, dirty mollyhouses in the depths of the bigger cities and making ghastly spectacles of themselves, but  _ normal _ people like him. Respectable, masculine men. Upright. In good standing in society. Wanting to be with men didn’t have to mean you had to act like a woman. It didn’t have to mean that you immediately sank to the depths of those people his father had always warned him about. And he’d been slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was one of those men. 

And then he’d seen Alfie with the clerk and everything had twisted around him once again. On the one hand, Alfie was soft and soothing and gentle with him. Encouraging. Loving. Accepting of his hesitancy and insecurities. He was safe and good and a million miles away from the degenerates and predators that he’d always been told men who wanted men always were. 

On the other hand, there he’d been in full force, beating an innocent, smiling in satisfaction at his cries, getting hard over his suffering and misery. Just like every vile child-beating, power-mad, controlling, raping demon Tommy had known in his youth. He’d immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, and the horror of it had made him physically sick. And later, when Alfie had explained about masochists and that some people chose, actually  _ wanted _ and  _ chose _ to put themselves in that type of situation, he’d been numb with confusion. 

Not because he didn’t understand the concept. But because it fascinated him  _ so fucking much _ . 

And terror had crept through him. Was this how the sickness started? You began thinking that you were a normal man with a bit of an unfortunate sexual predilection, and you slowly sank through the depths of depravity until you were begging to be beaten and raped and humiliated. Had he, in spying on Alfie with the clerk, been watching his own future? The fears that Alfie had soothed about  _ men like them _ erupted into new heights of anxiety. He never should have started this. He never should have given in to his urges. It was juvenile fancy. It was just a quirk of puberty.  _ He wasn’t that kind of person. _

Was he?

He realised that Alfie was silent. Waiting for him to expand or clarify on what he’d said. He groped for the point he was trying to make. “It doesn’t mean anything about who you are as a real person.” The unspoken question hovered in the air around them.

“Yeah.” Alfie’s voice croaked and he cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s the whole thing, ain’t it? You get to do or be something different.” He hugged Tommy tightly. Pressed a kiss into the nape of his neck and fuck, that was exactly what he needed right now. Comfort and reassurance and…  _ Alfie. _ Just Alfie, helping him to make sense of the mess in his mind. “And when the game is over, you go back to your normal life like nothing ever happened.” 

Tommy nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah.” 

Alfie gave him a minute to find his thoughts. Then two. Then five. But whatever was going on in Tommy’s head, he didn’t seem to be able to come forth with any further details unprompted. “Tommy, for fuck’s sake, will you just tell me what is on your fucking mind, eh? What do you want? What game would you like to play? Just--”

“If I let you hurt me, would you fuck me?” Tommy cut in abruptly. He had to know if doing it would make the difference. If playing the role the clerk had taken would take away any of the jealousy that was eating away at him. He didn’t even know which of them he was more envious of, only that he wanted to experience it. To feel that side of Alfie as well. At the moment, it was like he could only see half the picture. Only one face of the dice. 

He wanted  _ every _ facet of Alfie. 

Alfie huffed his annoyance at the question. “I already told you, you don’t need--

“No, I know that.” Tommy interrupted. “But... that’s the game I want to play.” He went very still. Saying it out loud suddenly made the idea a lot more substantial. 

Alfie ran a rough palm down the planes of his body. “You want me to hurt you?” he asked quietly. 

“No.” And he didn’t. As much as he’d experienced, Tommy didn’t like pain. It wasn’t pleasant. But he also wasn’t afraid of it. It was only pain. It went away, with enough time or opium. The body healed. And if it didn’t. Well. He’d left his fear of death in the mud in France. 

Alfie sighed. “Tommy, I am confused.”

Tommy took his hand and used it to organise his thoughts. He tapped Alfie’s little finger. “You like to hurt people, and you like to hurt people who want to get hurt.” He moved to the ring finger. “You like to fuck, and you like people to beg to be fucked.” Middle finger. “I like you making me beg you to fuck me.” He traced along Alfie’s index finger. “I like you making me wait for it; making me  _ want _ it.” His breathing had become somewhat ragged and he curled Alfie’s whole hand into a fist. “You like it too.”

Alfie made no effort to deny it. Tommy took a shaking breath and pressed his forehead to Alfie’s fist. It felt symbolic. “It’s a game. I don’t want you to hurt me. But I  _ do _ want you to fuck me. And to get the fuck I have to take the hurt.  _ That’s _ what I want to play.” Here it was. All his cards set out on the table. 

If it had just been about hurting people, Alfie could have got his jollies in the streets, scrapping and fighting with whoever dared to get in his way and sating himself in a whore of his choosing afterwards. But he didn’t do that. Not often these days, anyway. Instead, he sought out people who  _ wanted _ him to hurt them. It wasn’t just about the pain. It was about  _ choosing _ the pain. Being willing to go through it. It was the  _ submission _ . And Tommy Shelby didn’t fucking submit to anyone. 

Either he’d just brought all of Alfie’s fantasies to life, or he’d confused him into utter baffled speechlessness. Tommy’s own words echoed in his ears in the deafening silence while he waited for Alfie’s response.

He’d guessed right. Alfie tried to keep a lid on his reaction but his body betrayed him in the hitch of his breath in Tommy’s ear. The twitch of his cock against his backside. The sudden careful tension in his muscles. He was on board. Oh fuck yes. Excitement vibrated through him. In contrast, what he actually said was impressively mild: “I’m listening.” 

Tommy glanced over his shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean I like pain.” He had to make sure Alfie understood that. “I’m not like your clerk. I’m not… not  _ disturbed _ like--” 

“I know, I know, treacle.” Alfie soothed. “Don’t worry about that.” He slid his hand down to Tommy’s hip and hauled him tight against his belly. His cock was rock hard and pressed hotly into the back of Tommy’s leg. The clear evidence of his arousal quickened Tommy’s blood too. Alfie’s voice was soft and dark. “Talk to me about wanting to get fucked.”

Of course he wanted Tommy to talk. When did he ever not?

“I know I don’t have to negotiate.” Tommy began. “But I want to play at it.” He shifted his hips, wriggling his backside against Alfie’s crotch. “I want…” He dragged a breath and forced the words out. “I want to show you how much I want your cock. I want to  _ prove _ how much I want it.”  _ Yes. This was right. It was all true. _ “I want you to tease me with the promise of it. To make me suffer and then give me a reward to make it all worth it.” 

Alfie groaned in his ear. “Fucking hell, Tommy.” And there was the need in his voice that Tommy had been craving.

He glanced over his shoulder coyly, all but batting his eyelashes. “Is that a game you might be interested in?” The question was entirely superfluous. Tommy could feel Alfie’s interest in the gentle rocking of his hips against him. In the tightly controlled panting of his breath. In the wetness already leaking from him onto Tommy’s thigh.

Alfie cradled his jaw and turned Tommy’s face to look at him. His expression was one of pure awed wonder. “I know that I am dead, because you are fucking heaven, my love.” He swept his hand down Tommy’s thigh and back up to flutter his fingers over his balls before shifting up to grasp his cock. This was a change of pace from his previous painstaking teasing. Tommy twisted his shoulders, turning his face towards Alfie’s kisses. He was thickening up in the palm of Alfie’s hand, Alfie stroking him steadily in a counterpoint to the rutting of his hips that nudged his cock against the top of Tommy’s thigh. He ran his thumb over Tommy’s lips. “Tell me about your reward.”

“What do you mean?” Tommy shifted his hips and felt Alfie’s cock slide up the cleft of his buttocks. He let out a little exhalation of satisfaction. Of belonging. This was where he was meant to be. Naked and sprawled out so that Alfie could do what he wanted with him. Give him pleasure - or take pleasure from him. However he chose. 

“How would you want it? Gentle? Loving? Fast? Rough?” Alfie asked, the grip of his hand around Tommy’s erection changing to illustrate each word.  _ Fuck _ , he was good at that. Tommy had been wanking for a long time but he’d never realised that there were so many different ways for a hand around a cock to feel.

And how did he want it? How  _ would _ he want it, when they were playing their game? “Rough.” Tommy breathed. “Give it to me hard. Show me how much you want me.” He tipped his head back and moved Alfie’s other hand to his throat.

“Oh, I fucking want you,” Alfie growled in a voice that went straight to the bottom of Tommy’s belly and coiled around the base of his prick. He gripped Tommy’s jaw and wrapped his leg around Tommy’s, trapping him in place. A sharp jerk of his hips pressed his cock into the tight gap where Tommy’s buttocks met his thighs. His satisfied hiss met Tommy’s moan as his cock pressed up behind Tommy’s balls. 

Tommy rocked himself into the friction of Alfie’s fist. “Tell me.” This was something new too. Before Alfie, the thought of saying anything during sex (apart from perhaps ‘shut up’) had been an alien concept. But now… Tommy was beginning to learn why Alfie loved to insist that he said what he was thinking. That he put his dirty thoughts into words. It definitely turned him on.

Alfie never needed much encouragement to talk. He fucked himself between Tommy’s thighs and murmured filthily into his ear. “I want you, Tommy. I  _ need _ you. I need you wrapped around my cock. Your fucking beautiful arse just for me. Only for me.” Tommy groaned at that, clutching onto Alfie’s arm at his throat. In his mind, he imagined himself open and greased and Alfie helping himself to his arsehole. His cock twitched in Alfie’s hand. Alfie grinned. “I wanna fuck you, Tommy. Every day. Every hour. I want to see you coming, Tommy. Coming over and over and over again.”

Tommy’s hips jerked and he gasped out “fuck” between panting breaths. He wanted it too. He wanted it. 

Alfie stepped up his tempo. “I want to make you come for me, Tommy. My cock in you, my arms around you, my lips on you, and you coming and coming and coming...”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed breathlessly. “Yeah.” He wasn’t quite there but he was definitely close. He let Alfie work him a little longer. Reached down to cup his balls beneath Alfie’s pumping hand. Pressed his fingertips against the underside of Alfie’s cock as it thrust between his legs. And  _ fuck _ , that was hot. He needed just a little more. “Tell me- Tell me how much I want it.”

“How much you want my cock?” Alfie’s voice was pure filth.

Tommy squirmed in his arms. “Yeah. Tell me.  _ Tell me _ .”

Alfie was more than happy to oblige. “You  _ want _ me, Tommy,” he rumbled. “You want me to fuck you. You want my cock in your arsehole. Pounding into you.” Tommy crossed his ankles, squeezing his legs tight together. Even if this wasn’t a full fuck, he wanted it to be good. Alfie moaned, losing himself for a moment. He took a breath and kept talking. “Look how hard you are, Tommy. Look how desperate you are for it. Desperate for a fucking. Desperate for me to be in you. For me to make you come.”

Tommy cried out but it was Alfie who lost control. He gripped Tommy like a vice. Hand around his jaw, leg over his thighs, hips stuttering in their rhythmic rutting. “Fuck, Tom. Fuck!” he hissed into Tommy’s ear. He was coming. His cock shuddered against Tommy’s balls and Tommy rubbed his fingers hard against it, pressing Alfie to him. Alfie swore again and spurted, thick and hot, in sharp pulses over Tommy’s fingertips. 

“Oh fuck...” Tommy groaned, clutching at Alfie’s cock and milking him through his orgasm. He’d done that. His body and his actions had caused that. Alfie’s thrusting slowed and trembled to a stop. He dragged in a few heavy breaths, sweat beading where their bodies joined. Reaching down, his fingers explored Tommy’s, slipping in the wet texture of his own come. He brought his hand back up and stroked at Tommy’s prick again, mixing their fluids. Tommy’s hips rocked into the contact. Alfie grabbed a handful of his hair and turned his head so his ear was next to his lips.

“Thomas Shelby, OBE. MP. Distinguished fucking Conduct.” Alfie was pulling no punches here, hitting Tommy with all the dirty thoughts he never allowed himself to think. Tommy gasped out, fresh arousal flooding through him. “Squirming and moaning and begging for cock,” Alfie murmured at him. Tommy hissed through his teeth and nodded urgently, urging Alfie to carry on. “You’re  _ desperate _ for it,” Alfie told him, working his cock hard and fast. Tommy nodded again, eyes squeezed tight shut. He needed to hear it. Needed to be told how filthy he was. “Spread and stretched and slippery and…”

“Shit.” Tommy grabbed at the bedsheets, his body twitching. “Shit shit, shitshitshitshit.”

“Good boy.  _ Good boy. _ ” Alfie crooned, wanking him with more urgency. Tommy jerked again. Alfie’s teeth scraped at his jaw. “Good fucking beautiful boy. That’s it. Come for me.” And with his usual open-mouthed silence, Tommy came. Waves of turbulent pleasure washing through him with every echo of Alfie’s voice in his mind. He shook. Stars danced before his closed eyes. He hauled air into his lungs. Coughed. Gasped again. Alfie was still talking, still murmuring praise at him. “Good boy.  _ Good boy. _ ” Alfie held him. Stroked him. Kissed him while the aftershocks shuddered through his body. And slowly, Tommy came back down to earth. 

Alfie let go of him to grab his undershirt from where it had been tossed onto the floor and give them both a cursory wipe down with it before padding off stiffly to the bathroom for a piss. Tommy flopped loosely onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. 

For once, his mind was quiet. 

When Alfie climbed back into bed he gathered Tommy up into his arms and they just lay there in companionable comfort. Tommy might have actually dozed off if it hadn’t been for Alfie’s constant fucking murmuring. “You’re a fucking work of art, love. The finest sculptors would weep at your cheekbones because they’d never be able to create such exquisite perfection. All the great masters would throw down their paints and brushes at the futility of trying to capture--

Tommy sighed heavily. “Fucking hell.  _ Shut up _ , Alfie.” He buried his exquisite cheekbones out of sight against Alfie’s chest. Yes, it was petty, but he just needed a little space in his own mind for a bit.

“Mmmn, but it’s true.” Alfie traced the curve of his ear with a fingertip.

Tommy batted him away. “Just shut up.” Now that he’d come, the guilt was washing back in. As inevitable as the tide. He was deviant, he was perverted, he was weak, he was filth, he was effeminate, he was shameful, he was grotesque, he was...

Alfie pinched Tommy’s earlobe playfully, snapping his spiral of self pity. “What, you gonna make me?”

Snarling, Tommy resurfaced, glaring irritably. “Shut. Up.” Irrational anger bloomed in his gut again. He might choose to behave in certain ways in bed. During sex. But he wasn’t going to be fucking disrespected as a matter of course outside of that. He was a fucking Peaky Blinder. He’d lost count of the men he’d maimed or murdered for far less a slight than that. 

Alfie opened his mouth to retort but Tommy slapped his hand over it. He climbed up, throwing a leg over Alfie’s chest and straddling him, pinning him to the mattress. He’d always been small-framed but his muscles were well toned and he’d learned early how best to use the weight that he did have. Alfie grunted with the effort of trying to shift him, but it was no use. From here, right up on his shoulders and with Alfie’s dodgy back limiting how much he could flail around, he could keep Alfie trapped. Knowing that he still had that much power, even if it was just in this one unfair situation, reassured him a little. He wasn’t defenceless. He wasn’t totally vulnerable. 

He pressed down on Alfie’s mouth with one hand and put a finger to his lips. “Shhhhh.”

“Mmphl,” Alfie agreed, nodding as much as he was able to under the circumstances. 

Tommy held him there for a few moments, and then slowly dismounted. He lay on his side, head propped on his hand, still glaring daggers. One slender finger poked Alfie in the chest. “I ain’t no molly or nancy, alright?” His voice sounded rough - it was his tough-guy gangster tone. Recognising that in himself only made him more annoyed. “I ain’t some fairy ponce you can shove around.” The words came out louder than he’d intended, amplified by anger.

Alfie’s brow creased, ignoring Tommy’s tone and focusing on what he was actually saying. “You… You think I think less of you because you enjoy sex with me?” He sounded genuinely offended.

“That was just a game, right?” Tommy snapped. “Just a bed game. It’s not  _ real _ .” He needed Alfie to understand the distinction. To reassure him that he wasn’t… That he wasn’t like the clerk.

“I know. I know that, Tom.” Alfie replied mildly. And that was all he had to say. His honesty exposed in the simplicity of his words. He didn’t have to bluster and protest to prove himself. He just had to say it and Tommy knew it was true. But he was angry and embarrassed about his own emotions getting the better of him and so instead of accepting Alfie’s reassurance, he scoffed and hauled the blankets tightly over himself, turning his back to Alfie. Because tonight he was apparently a moody fourteen year old in a huff.

Alfie ignored his petulance and scooched closer to him. “Hey. C’mon. Come here.” Despite his mood, Tommy let himself be pulled into a loose hug. It instantly soothed his nerves. Alfie kissed his temple. “Stop worrying, Tommy. It’s just me. I’m safe. You can be anyone with me. You can be anything. You don’t have to prove yourself, I already know who you are.” Alfie stuffed a pillow under his head and tugged the other out from where it had got stuck between the mattress and the bedframe. ”For example, right now you’re a bit of a prick.” He held it out to Tommy, who took it mutely and tucked it under his head.

After fussing with the bedding Alfie carried on as if there’d been no pause. “But that’s alright, because I happen to be quite partial to pricks, as it happens.” He glanced at Tommy for a reaction and shrugged when none was forthcoming. “And nothing will go beyond these walls, Tom. None of it exists outside the two of us. That’s the whole fucking point, isn’t it? It’s just us. And who we are together in here has no relation with who we are out there in the world.” 

Fuck, Tommy wanted to believe that. With every breath in his body, he wanted to believe it.

He made a skeptical noise, rolling further onto his side. Alfie stroked a hand gently down his back. “There’s no harm in wanting what you want, Tom. And there’s no shame in getting what you want.”

Tommy curled up, holding himself tightly. Self loathing threatened to swallow him whole. “What I want is a perversion and a sin,” he muttered into his pillow. He didn’t know why. He didn’t believe in sin. Didn’t care about perversion. Those ideas had held no threat over him since he was a child. 

_ So why am I so ashamed now? _

There was a beat of silence. That had taken Alfie by surprise. “And since when did Tommy Shelby set so much store in the words of priests and the pious?” Alfie asked, almost incredulously. “Since when did did you give a fuck about sin? You don’t even believe in your God.” Tommy hunched smaller. He  _ didn’t know _ . That was the fucking problem. 

Behind him, Alfie continued blithely on. “Now me, however - I am well and truly  _ fucked _ , mate. I know my God is watching me and every sinful filthy act I’ve ever done.  _ But _ \- I also know that I am one of his chosen people. I have His salvation running through my very  _ veins _ , Tommy. That is an absolute fucking certainty to me. And you…” He nudged at the back of Tommy’s ear with his nose. “You are Thomas fucking Shelby, ain’tcha?” He poked Tommy’s shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. For you, God doesn’t exist and no one on earth can lay a fucking finger on you, can they? Fuck knows enough cunts have tried, but not one has lived to tell the tale, have they?”

Tommy snorted a half-laugh and looked over his shoulder. “Except you, eh?” Alfie was always the exception. The balancing weight on the lopsided scale. Challenging him and aiding him from the very first day they met. If Tommy was a kite, Alfie was both the tether and the storm.

“Hah.” Alfie nodded. “Purely by invitation, Tom. Purely by invitation.” A hand on Tommy’s shoulder and Tommy was turning back over, letting Alfie pull him in close again. 

He pressed his finger to Alfie’s lips. “And don’t you fucking forget it.” 

He kissed him. Slowly. Taking his time. Doing to Alfie what Alfie usually did to him. Unfurling his tightly wrapped layers. This was a kiss that apologised for his strangeness and moods. For his jealousy and his self pity. For his doubts. For his anger.

And when Alfie kissed him back, he understood.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> So I started a fic, and then got stuck. So I started a second one to write while the first percolated through my mind.  
> Then I got stuck on the second one. So this one happened. And this isn't the scene that I actually planned to write.
> 
> That is apparently how my brain works these days. I have no idea. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @still-the-seventh. Come and say hi.


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